


September Song

by Westgate (Harkpad)



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Music, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-12 00:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17457458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harkpad/pseuds/Westgate
Summary: Bucky hears Clint play guitar for the first time. Clint's satisfied that Steve's suggestion worked.





	September Song

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from a Django Reinhardt song.

 

The sound of a six-string guitar stopped Bucky in his tracks. He was headed to his rooms but had stopped in the communal kitchen since he’d run out of peanut butter (he was always running out of peanut butter). He paused in the entrance because the sound was gorgeous. Deft fingers were playing a song Bucky didn’t know, but the running chords pierced his skin and soaked into his bones as he stood there listening.

His muscles unclenched, his heartbeat slowed and time seemed to stop as he stood there. He listened until the music stopped, and a sadness settled into his heart when it did. Thankfully, after a few breaths, it began again, this time slower, more soulful, like the notes were telling a sad story.

“Bucky?”

It was Steve, and Bucky couldn’t say where he’d come from, since apparently the music was stealing his senses as well. Steve took one look at Bucky’s face and grinned. “Uh oh,” he said. “Now it’s over. You heard Clint play.”

Bucky blinked and stared at Steve. “That’s Barton?”

“He used to play a lot, but he’s been busy lately. I blame you, really,” Steve said with a shrug as he headed into the kitchen.

Bucky trailed after him. “Me? Why?”

“You and Clint are thick as thieves right now, Buck. When’s he got time to play guitar when you two are competing at the range, completing your dive-bar quest, and playing video games all the damned time?” Steve said as he dug into the refrigerator, clearly intent on finding a snack.

Bucky leaned over the breakfast bar and looked at Clint, who was sitting on the couch with his neon green stocking feet on the glass coffee table and his head thrown back lazily, staring at the ceiling as he played. It was true, what Steve said. Clint was Bucky’s go-to right now, had been for a couple months.

 It wasn’t just the sound of the guitar that made Bucky’s singing nerves go quiet. It was Clint’s confident, ‘Come on Buck, let’s shoot,’ or his habit of pulling on Bucky’s sleeve and nagging, ‘Come out with me and find a pool table that tilts a little bit,’ or his knock on Bucky’s door and quiet, ‘Hey, you need to get out of your head tonight?’ before he dragged Bucky to his rooms for a video game or down to the common room for a movie on Stark’s ridiculous sound system.

Now, the sounds his fingers were making on the strings sent Bucky into a trance. He watched as the sunlight streaming into the room caught Clint’s eyes, making them shimmer, and how his spiky hair caught the light and became a shade blonder. He watched Clint’s face relax in an easy contentment that he usually only saw on the range when Clint had a bow in his hands. He listened as the music filled the spacious room with a mumbling rhythm of notes that bled together so it seemed like there wasn’t any space between them at all.

Bucky felt Steve settle next to him, smelled the coffee that was brewing, but couldn’t do anything but watch and listen.

Clint’s fingers finally stilled, and he gave Bucky and Steve a lazy salute. “Gonna charge admission if you’re not careful,” he drawled with a grin, and when he winked at Bucky a new feeling threaded through Bucky’s chest and down into his stomach, heading straight for his groin with embarrassing speed.

He blinked and swallowed, and turned to catch Steve watching him with laughter in his eyes.

“He’d pay whatever you want now, Clint,” Steve called, and stepped back to avoid Bucky’s attempt at slapping him as embarrassment heated his cheeks.

Clint just kept playing, switching songs and setting his feet on the floor with a thud. It was Django Reinhardt. Clint was sitting in the Avengers common room playing Django Reinhardt on his guitar with a smug smile and his eyes fixed on Bucky in a way he’d never looked at him before, and Bucky’s body thrummed with want.

He looked over and Steve was gone. Thank god, because it felt like Clint was divesting Bucky of his clothes with his eyes, and something had changed. It was like the music had cast a spell on both of them, Clint staring, Bucky wanting nothing more than to go to the couch and do things he hadn’t done since nineteen forty-one.

Bucky swallowed.

Clint grinned and beckoned him over with a jerk of his head, fingers never stopping. The music made Bucky dizzy with memory, Clint’s smile jerked him back to the present and the two seemed to swirl together in a lollipop swirl of color.

He moved.      

He sat down next to Clint and watched his fingers again, as memories of dance halls and girls with skirts twirling mixing with Clint leaning on a pool cue, pulling a bowstring, laughing with his head thrown back.

The music stopped.

“Bucky?” Clint asked, and Bucky met his eyes with a crooked smile of his own.

“You’re gorgeous,” Bucky said, and Clint blinked and then very deliberately set the guitar down next to him. He looked at Bucky’s lips and the expectation and welcome were both crystal clear.

Bucky sucked in a breath and leaned over, pressing his lips to Clint’s and resting them there before scooting closer for a better angle. He moved, and Clint moved, and they were making out on the couch like it was the only thing in the universe that was possibly the right thing to do, and Bucky was soaring.

When he came back to himself and pulled away, Clint ran his fingers over Bucky’s lips and chuckled. “It worked,” he said.

Words weren’t something Bucky could manage at the moment, too caught up in the taste of Clint’s lips and the echo of the jazz riffs of long ago, but he must’ve looked confused.

 “Steve said if I pulled out the guitar you’d figure it out,” Clint said, and reached down and patted the hollow wood. “It worked.”

Bucky pulled him close again and cupped his face in his hands. “I figured it out. Now kiss me again before you play me somethin’ else.”                                                                                 

 

 

 


End file.
